


Summer of 69

by elaine



Category: Quantum Leap, The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Beckett puts right the things that went wrong in the summer of '69 and Blair finds out who his father is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer of 69

  
The roar of the crowd was deafening, and Sam raised his arms in triumph, grinning from ear to ear. Beside him, Al was grinning too, and practically dancing with joy. He felt the first icy, electric tingle of a Leap about to start and met Al's eyes, seeing the same satisfaction mirrored there as he felt within himself. Then everything whited out, and when he could see again, he was in the middle of a small room, with a mural on one wall of a rainbow and vividly painted flowers, children, and animals.   
  
A schoolroom, maybe, he thought, before the mewling sound of a very young baby came from behind him. He turned, catching a glimpse of movement as he did so, and stopped, staring into the mirror that hung over the crib. A young woman stared back at him, barely out of her teens, he suspected. A fall of glorious red-gold hair tumbled about her shoulders, complementing fair skin and wide green eyes. She looked distraught, eyes reddened with weeping, her face tense.   
  
The baby's grumbling sharpened into a more demanding cry and Sam felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest. He lifted a hand and saw the young woman was lightly touching one milk-swollen breast. Sam groaned softly: “Oh….  _boy_ …”  
  
***

 _Cascade – 1996  
_  
The phone rang distractingly, and Blair Sandburg-Kozinsky sighed, smiled apologetically at Molly, and reached behind him to pick up the call. “What is it?”  
  
“Blair, I'm sorry to… to interrupt… but…” his PA's voice, over the speakerphone was more flustered than he'd ever heard it. “I've told him you can't be disturbed.”  
  
It could be something serious. Blair picked up the receiver and smiled again at Molly. “Just a minute, Adrienne.” He covered the mouthpiece with his palm. “Molly, sweetheart, can we continue this later?” He underlined the request with a brief touch of his fingertip to her pouting lower lip. “I promise I'll make it worth your while.”  
  
She looked at him reproachfully, then smiled and shrugged. Blair had long ago learned that a combination of charm and expensive gifts would win over all but the most demanding of women – the kind he couldn't be bothered pursuing anyway – for a while, at least. He grinned and turned his attention back to the phone.  
  
But it was already too late, it seemed. He heard Adrienne's rising protests in stereo, over the phone and through the door that separated their offices, and then the door was flung open, barely missing Molly. She didn't seem too inclined to take offence, though, and Blair could understand why.   
  
Fuck, the man was a wet dream on two legs. Two long,  _long_  legs… As he waited impatiently by the door for Molly to leave, Blair inspected his visitor thoroughly. Dark hair was cropped close to a well-shaped head; receding at the temples, but on this guy it looked fine. His face was austerely handsome, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw and the clearest pale blue eyes Blair had ever seen. Blair imagined how a smile would lighten up that grim expression and warm those cold eyes.  
  
“Something amusing you here, Chief?”   
  
Nice voice too, Blair thought as he hastily wiped the appreciative smile off his face. Everything about this guy screamed 'Cop', from the arrogant tilt of his chin to the neat but not stylish suit and the way he walked into the room as though he owned it. This was going to be very interesting.  
  
“How can I help you… detective, is it?”  
  
“Ellison.” The cop nodded brusquely. “I have some questions regarding your involvement with O'Toole Trucking.”  
  
“O'Toole? Wasn't he murdered recently?” Blair sat on the edge of his desk, watching the emotions flickering behind the careful façade of Ellison's face.  
  
“He was involved in the Juno case. The investigation I'm conducting has arisen out of certain evidence relating to that case.” Cold blue eyes met Blair's, assessing him from head to toe. “I'm sure you'll be happy to assist with Police enquiries.”  
  
“Of course I would, Detective Ellison,” Blair ignored the heavily ironic tone. “But I'm not sure how I can help. It's true that the union has had dealings with O'Toole… and every other trucking firm in Cascade.” He studied the taller man curiously. “Do I know you? Your name seems famil…” He stopped suddenly as the memory fell into place.   
  
This was the cop who had been taunted by the Switchman – a bomber who had pursued a vendetta against Ellison by blowing up innocent civilians, until finally she had killed herself a month ago, along with a busload of tourists. The press had had a field day with Ellison and the Cascade PD for failing to stop her rampage.  
  
Ellison's mouth tightened and his eyes grew even colder. “Mr Kozinski…”  
  
“Actually, it's Sandburg-Kozinski, if you don't mind.” Blair straightened to his full height – bringing him level with Ellison's chin. He met Ellison's hard eyes challengingly. This guy had serious anger management issues. “I'm sure you're aware of my correct name.”  
  
It seemed that Ellison was on an even shorter fuse than Blair had realised. He took a step back as cold fury flashed in those icy blue eyes. It didn't help. Ellison followed, his hands – big, elegant hands, Blair noted automatically – reaching for the lapels of the Armani suit jacket Blair was wearing.  
  
“Listen, you little punk…” and with no effort at all, Blair's back was up against the wall, his feet dangling at least a couple of inches off the expensively carpeted floor of his office. “If you think you can screw with me,” a little shake for emphasis rattled Blair's teeth, “then you'd better think again. I can hit you up for harassing a police officer, resisting arrest, and your behaviour has given me probable cause to shake this office down for possession of narcotics. You get me?”  
  
If Ellison had thought he could intimidate Blair with his physical presence and the ludicrous threats, he was wrong. So very wrong. Instinctively, Blair had raised his hands to Ellison's chest – purely to steady himself, he insisted silently. Now, he slid them around Ellison's neck, clamping them tightly to the back of his skull. The short hair tickled his palm as he leaned closer.  
  
He'd learned long ago that being younger and smaller than any of his tormentors mean that he needed to attack fast and use unexpected methods. He was pretty certain that Ellison wasn't expecting  _this_  particular method, Blair thought, as he kissed the other man with a ferocious enthusiasm that startled both of them.  
  
There was a momentary hesitation, and then Ellison was kissing him back as though he was starved for it. Blair spared a moment to thank his lucky stars that Ellison wasn't – for the moment, at least – going to beat the crap out of him and then plunged headlong into the wildest kiss he'd ever experienced in his life.  
  
It ended suddenly when Ellison dragged his mouth away from Blair's and stepped back, releasing him so that he dropped to the floor, his hands scrabbling at the wall to help keep him upright. Ellison was still there, watching intently, and when Blair steadied himself, the cop swallowed heavily and moved in again.  
  
His hands came up to frame Blair's face and he leaned down, his lips barely brushing against Blair's. Even that slight touch sent a jolt of electricity through Blair's groin, and he saw Ellison's nostrils flare briefly before their lips met again. This time the kiss was exquisitely gentle and achingly sweet. God, he'd never felt anything like this… he groaned softly into Ellison's mouth, parting his lips in invitation.  
  
Ellison ignored it. His fingers slid through Blair's short curls, then tightened, drawing him closer as he pressed kiss after hungry kiss against Blair's lips. Blair laid one hand against Ellison's cheek, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs. Whatever was happening here, it was nothing like the reaction he'd expected. It seemed like Ellison was totally lost in the sensation of his lips against Blair's.  
  
Finally, Ellison stepped back, his eyes unfocused, his mouth slackened, lips swollen. He swallowed again and said softly, “I… I'm sorry.”  
  
“Shut up, Ellison.” Blair had never been more grateful for the wall at his back. He'd had orgasms that were less intense than those kisses. “I started it, remember?”  
  
Ellison blinked, shaking his head dazedly, but said nothing.  
  
Blair slid to his left and out from between Ellison and the wall. It was time he took back control of the situation. “What's your name? Your first name?”  
  
“Jim.” Ellison swallowed and tried to insert some of the old arrogance back into his voice. “Mr Kozinski…”  
  
“ _Sandburg_ -Kozinski. With a hyphen. Or Blair.” He smiled at Ellison's reaction. “Jim, I'm really busy right now. Do you think we could do this later? Maybe at my apartment? I'll be happy to cooperate as much as possible.”  
  
Ellison's eyes narrowed at the blatant innuendo in Blair's tone. But he nodded. “Tonight?”  
  
“Sure.” Blair's smile broadened. “Come around seven. I'll have housekeeping send us up a nice meal.”  
  
“It sounds more like a date than an appointment.” Now Ellison was having trouble meeting his eyes. “I  _want_  answers.”  
  
“Oh, you'll definitely get answers.” And, hopefully, a whole lot more. Blair brushed thoughtfully at the creases in his jacket and shirt as Ellison nodded warily and turned away. Nice ass too, he thought as the cop walked towards the door.  
  
It was only much later that the thought occurred to him; Ellison could be useful in other ways than the one he'd been thinking about for the last few hours. He must be slipping.  
  
***

 _San Francisco 1969  
_  
This time, Al was fast. Sam had only been in Naomi's body a couple of hours when the holographic image appeared beside him.  
  
“Hey, Sam…” Al rocked back on his heels, his eyes widening. “Woah. Okay, this is disturbing. You're…  _she's_  really hot.”  
  
Sam sighed. “Yes, she is. Can we move on now? Why am I here? Where – and when –  _is_  here?”  
  
“Well…” Al poked at his handset, which beeped protestingly. “You're Naomi Sandburg. You're nineteen years old and you've recently given birth to a son, Blair.” He smiled confidentially, “it's June 1969 and you're in San Francisco.”  
  
“And?” Sam prompted. Something about this leap was making him more uneasy than usual.  
  
“She's just found out her lover, Jackie Kozinski, is involved with the Mob.” Al sobered fast. “Oh, this is bad, Sam. In three months time Naomi disappears and is never seen again, leaving her son to be raised by his father. At the time, the cops believed Kozinski was responsible, but later they thought it might have been the Mob. Some of her friends told the cops she was trying to persuade Kozinski to go straight.”  
  
The handset beeped again and Al frowned. “In sixty-nine, he's just a small time hood, but soon he'll become one of the leading front men for a union, based in Detroit. He's involved in all kinds of shady dealings. Moves to Cascade in the early 'Seventies. Then, in the early 'Nineties, he'll be killed, leaving his son to take over.”  
  
“Blair? A mobster?” Sam went over to the crib and looked down at the sleeping baby. “That must be why I'm here, Al. To stop that from happening.”  
  
“Or to save Naomi's life.” Al nodded. “If she doesn't disappear, then I'm pretty sure her son will turn out different. He's a smart kid. Started university at sixteen. Was all set to be a big name in Anthropology until his father died.” He coughed. “It gets worse, Sam. Sometime early in ninety-six, he meets up with a cop,” he poked the handset again, “called Jim Ellison. A couple months later they're found together in the old Delmonico Cannery, both shot in the back of the head. It has all the hallmarks of an execution style killing. It looks like Blair was trying to get evidence against his father's killers and Ellison was helping.”  
  
He joined Sam, standing by the crib, where Blair slept, totally unaware of the discussion being held over his head. Sam sighed. “I think the best thing we can do is get Naomi into the witness protection program.”  
  
Al nodded. “You'll need something to offer the Feds. Think you can do that?”  
  
“I guess we'll see.” There wasn't any choice, Sam knew, though it could be dangerous. He'd do anything, sacrifice anything to save this baby.  
  
***

 _Cascade 1996  
_  
There was almost nothing in Jim Ellison's locker for Simon to clear out. A change of clothes, a gym bag and a book. There'd been little in his desk drawers, either, that had been Jim's personal property – no photos, cards or even the normal detritus of an ordinary human life. But then, Jim Ellison hadn't been an ordinary cop.  
  
Simon sighed heavily. It was hard enough doing this for one of his men, but much worse when that man had been a friend. A friend, he felt now, that he'd failed.  
  
It had started a couple of months ago, during the Switchman case. Jim had come to him for help, but Simon had been too caught up with his own issues over that case. He'd given Jim the brush off, and Jim had withdrawn, physically and emotionally. After the case had ended badly, it seemed like the breach between them had widened.  
  
Ellison had always been a loner, and difficult to handle. Over the next few weeks it had gotten worse, almost imperceptible on a day-by-day basis, but looking back, Simon could see the pattern. The last straw had been partnering Jim with ATF Agent Drennan. She'd had her own demons riding her, and putting them together had been like mixing gunpowder and matches. And now they were both dead and Hector Carasco would almost certainly go free.  
  
He stuffed the other contents of the locker into the bag. Ellison's brother was listed as his next-of-kin, though Simon had never heard Jim speak of him. He'd hand over the personal effects himself, a duty he never enjoyed, but that could wait until after the funeral.  
  
As he closed the locker, Taggart came past, and paused to offer his condolences. Simon accepted them in grim silence. He just couldn't help thinking that things should have turned out differently.  
  
***

 _Albuquerque – 1998  
_  
“I'm sorry, Blair, but we had a deal.” Prof Marchant pushed her glasses up her nose absentmindedly. “We agreed on this deadline two years ago and now it's time for you to choose another thesis topic.”  
  
“But, Elizabeth…” Blair hesitated as she lifted her hand. “I  _know_  I can find a sentinel. I just need more time.”  
  
“You've had over three years, Blair.” Her voice was sympathetic. “Are you any closer to finding a sentinel now than you were then?”   
  
“Well… no, but…” he leaned forward urgently. “I've found people with one or two enhanced senses. People who work for perfume or coffee companies?”  
  
Elizabeth sighed. “But not somebody with all five.”  
  
“Not yet.” He looked at her pleadingly. “I just know… I  _know_  there's somebody out there. I feel like I'm  _this_  close… Maybe it's just that Albuquerque is too small a population base…”  
  
“Didn't Burton say there was a sentinel in every village?” She shook her head. “Face it, Blair. Even assuming there were sentinels once, they no longer exist. And if they do, and you find one, you can always revisit the thesis at a later date – maybe a research paper, or a book. But if you want your doctorate you're going to have to choose another topic for your thesis. I'm sorry, but the committee is adamant. You can't go on wasting your time on this.”   
  
“I'll think about it.” Blair pushed himself out of the chair reluctantly. For the last couple of months he'd been working on a backup proposal, but a study of police subcultures held little interest when his heart was set on a study of modern sentinels.  
  
“We'll meet again in two weeks, Blair, and at that time I'd like to see a preliminary outline for your new thesis.”  
  
“All right, Elizabeth. I'll see what I can do.” He wondered if he'd even be at the university in two weeks. There just didn't seem to be any point now.  
  
***

“Mom?” Blair left the door swing closed behind him, glad of the air conditioning after just the brief walk from the bus stop. “You home?”  
  
“Through here, Blair.” His mother's voice came from the little study at the back of the house and he made his way there, dropping his backpack of books and laptop at the door of his room. “So, how did it go?” she asked brightly.  
  
“About how I expected.” He tried to keep the despondency out of his voice. “I've got two weeks to come up with a new thesis.”  
  
“Oh, Blair. I'm sorry.” She managed to look as though she meant it, but Blair knew that for some reason she'd never been happy about his interest in sentinels. “But you'll be able to do that, won't you?”  
  
“Maybe.” He dropped into a chair beside her small desk. “What are you doing? More fundraising?”  
  
She nodded and began to explain about her latest cause. Blair allowed the words to flow over him without paying much attention. As long as he could remember, his mother had been engrossed by politics and environmental issues, totally unlike all the other mothers of kids he knew. It had never seemed to make her happy though, and there'd been times when she'd suffered from depression. As he'd grown older, he'd realised that his mother simply hadn't been suited to life in small town New Mexico.  
  
Moving to Albuquerque so he could attend university when he was sixteen had helped, but even here she hadn't found the kind of people who shared her spiritual or political beliefs. The internet had finally ended that isolation, and now she'd spend hours every day chatting, e-mailing and getting involved in political discussions in online forums.   
  
Suddenly aware that her chatter had ceased, Blair dragged up a smile. “So when are you going to actually go to one of these conferences? Isn't there one in Phoenix later this year?”  
  
She ignored his question, studying him with an intensity that left him feeling naked and vulnerable. “You're really upset about this, aren't you, sweetie?”  
  
“No, Mom, why should I be?” He bit off the rest of his sarcastic response, “I'm sorry. It's just… I know you've never wanted me to do this thesis. I don't expect you to…”  
  
“Blair…” She lifted her eyes to meet his, hurt fading to be replaced by wariness. Which wasn't an expression he ever wanted to see on her face. “There's something I think you need to know.”  
  
Her voice was unwontedly serious and Blair felt his chest tighten. “What is it, Mom? You're not… not sick, or…”  
  
“No, no. Not that.” She smiled nervously. “It's the reason I didn't want you to write your thesis on sentinels. It's such an exciting idea, and I'm so proud of you, but we can't afford to draw the kind of attention that a thesis like that would bring.”  
  
When she didn't continue, Blair leaned forward. “Why, Mom? What are you talking about?”  
  
“Blair… sweetie, there's things I've never told you…”  
  
“About my father?” He caught hold of her hand, remembering all the times he'd asked and she'd avoided answering. As he'd gotten older, he'd realised that the questions seemed to hurt her and stopped asking. “You  _do_  know who he is.”  
  
“He's… he was a criminal, Blair.” Her hands tightened on his. “I had to get you away from that kind of life. I found some documents in his office and gave them to the FBI in exchange for a new identity for us both. But if any of those people found out you were his son, they'd kill us both in a heartbeat.”  
  
At last, everything about his life made sense. He'd studied Anthropology because of all the stories she'd told him as a child – stories of strange, exotic places and people. He'd heard the longing in her voice, but at the time it hadn't occurred to him to ask why she'd never gone to those places. Later, he'd just assumed it was lack of money – they'd never been as well off as other families he knew. Now, he had a different explanation. One that actually made sense. Naomi had never been made for this kind of life and neither had he.  
  
“All these years we've been in hiding?” So many things that could have been different… he could hardly think straight. “Mom, is that why you've never been to any of those conferences?”  
  
Naomi shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I could never take the risk, Blair. What if someone recognised me? It wasn't just me I had to think about, you see…”  
  
Oh yeah, he saw. He saw very clearly what she'd sacrificed all these years. “Mom, we have to get out of here. This place is… it's just not right for either of us. I'll drop out of the doctorate program and we'll go somewhere else. Somewhere we can both be ourselves.”  
  
But, even as he said it, he wondered… who were they, really? He'd never had the chance to find out, but maybe, if they were lucky, he'd get the chance now.  _  
_  
***

 _San Francisco 1969  
_  
“I don't understand.” Sam grumbled. He'd found the information that would get Naomi and her son into the Federal witness protection program. He'd set up the meeting with an FBI agent. Surely that was enough. “Why haven't I leaped?”  
  
“Beats me,” Al consulted the handset. “It says here that Naomi and Blair were moved to New Mexico. Kid never got that doctorate, but he's teaching at some community college in Maine and Naomi's married a peace activist and is living in New York. Kozinsky was murdered in the early 'Nineties.”   
  
He looked at Sam expectantly, as if Sam could supply the answer. The handset beeped indignantly. “Hey! Gushi says that the cop – Ellison? He was killed in the line of duty in mid-Ninety-six, along with a Federal agent.”  
  
“Ellison?” Sam leaned over, to look for himself. “Is he a part of this?”  
  
Al shrugged. “If Gushi thinks so, then he probably is.” He poked, seemingly at random and got another squeal. “Eighty-seven point six percent probability that Ellison's involved.  
  
“So Blair needs to be in Cascade to save him. But if Naomi goes into the witness protection program, he won't be.” Sam turned away to pace across the room and back. The last few days had been rough, with the baby restless and crying all hours of the day and night. Luckily, it had given him the excuse he needed to sleep in a separate room from Kozinski, otherwise he didn't like to think what might have happened. “Then Naomi can't go into Witness Protection.”  
  
“And why would you want to do that?” Kozinski stood in the doorway, watching him.  
  
“Oh. Oh, Sam… this is bad…”  
  
“Jackie…” Sam forced a smile to his face. “I wasn't expecting…”  
  
“I can see that.” Kozinski moved into the room, but still kept himself between Sam and the doorway. His eyes were wary, his hands loose at his side.  
  
“…this is very bad. Maybe the cops were right. Maybe Kozinski  _was_  the killer.” Al was stabbing furiously at the handset.  
  
“Jackie, I…” A wail from Blair distracted Sam, and he went to pick the baby up. His tiny face was screwed up in distress and his fists were flailing at the air. He came to a decision. “I can't let you harm this baby. Jackie, I…  _we_  have to leave here. If we don't he'll be dragged into your world, and I just can't let that happen.”  
  
“Naomi…” Kozinski came over and put his hands gently on Sam's shoulders. “It doesn't have to be like that. We can keep Blair away from those things.”  
  
“Like your family did for you?” Sam shook his head, seeing in the mirror the tears gathering in Naomi's eyes. Al was silent, watching them both. “Jackie, it won't work. Please… let us go. We'll disappear. Or… you could come too, come with us. This is no way to live.”  
  
Kozinski brushed his fingers down Sam's cheek. “If I try to leave, they'll hunt me down. I know too much, Naomi.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“So, you'll have to go alone.” He leaned forward, as if to kiss Sam, then with a quick squeeze of one shoulder, released him, turning away. “Those friends of yours – the hippies… you could go to them. They'll be moving on soon anyway.”  
  
Sam watched helplessly as he walked out of the nursery.  
  
“Hey… Sam this is… yeah, I think this is it!” Al hit the side of the handset as lights flashed and squeals erupted from it. “Yes! It says that Naomi and Blair travel around, never settling in one place until Blair goes to college. He meets Ellison and works with him at the Cascade PD. Doesn't get the doctorate, though – there's some kind of scandal and he drops out.” Al grinned triumphantly, punching the air.   
  
“Also? It looks like he and Ellison…” All waggled his eyebrows meaningfully, then sighed as Sam looked at him blankly. “…are more than just friends. You know what I mean?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “I think I can guess. What about Jackie?”  
  
“He disappears mid-Seventies after giving evidence against some Mob guys.” Al shook his head. “That's all there is.”  
  
***

 _Cascade 1999  
_  
“So, are you going to tell me the real reason you're here?”  
  
Simon's glare was focused on him for a full ten seconds – it seemed like a lot longer – before he sighed. “Joel asked me to talk to you. You're driving him crazy.”  
  
“What am  _I_  doing?” The tone of outraged innocence failed to convince either of them. Jim knew he'd been acting like a royal pain in the ass. Apparently, everyone else knew it too. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the familiar signs of a rapidly developing headache. “Look, Simon, I'll try…” he shrugged as he realised he wasn't sure  _what_  he could do to make things better.  
  
“Why don't you just tell me what's going on. Is it Sandburg?” Simon knew him too damned well. “Is he having second thoughts about the Academy?”  
  
“No, no… I mean, he's not having second thoughts.”  
  
“So,  _you're_  having second thoughts.” Simon frowned. “You seemed pretty sure it was what you wanted.”  
  
“It  _is_  what I want, but not if… damn it, Simon, he could have had his doctorate by now.” Jim pushed himself out of his chair and strode halfway to the window before turning. “He could be rich… famous… and now the best he's got to look forward to is a job that's underpaid, dangerous and that nobody appreciates.”  
  
Simon nodded. “Have you talked to him about it?”  
  
“How can I?” Jim shrugged angrily. “If I do… at best, he'll think I don't really trust him, at worst… he'll think I'm trying to talk him out of it. I want him as my partner, but I simply can't see how he would ever be satisfied with that. It feels like I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to wake up and realise…”  
  
“Huh,” Simon grunted. “Seems to me like being a cop is what he's wanted for a long time. That, and…” he glowered at Jim for a moment, then dropped his eyes to his hands. “Has it ever occurred to you that the reason the other shoe hasn't dropped is because there  _is_  no 'other shoe'?”  
  
“No other…” Jim stared at him. Could it really be that simple? He wasn't used to getting what he wanted. Not in the big things, the things that mattered. Could Sandburg be the exception?  
  
Simon shook his head and grinned. “Go home and  _talk_  to him.”  
  
***  
  
By the time Jim arrived home, he felt like he was teetering on the edge of a precipice. If he could bring himself to believe that Blair really wanted to be a cop, to be his partner, then maybe… just maybe he could hope – believe – that Blair could want more, could want  _him_.   
  
Jesus!  _Could_  Blair want him? He thought back over the past few months – at all the crap they'd been through. At all the crap  _he'd_  dished out to Blair, that Blair had just taken, and  _taken_ … was it possible that Simon was right? There was no 'other shoe', and Blair was still with him because that was where Blair wanted to be? It was almost possible to believe, almost possible to allow himself to hope.  
  
Blair, not for the first time, was way ahead of him. He was sitting on the couch, reading, when Jim walked in. He looked up and only a slight hesitation and the widening of his eyes betrayed his sudden understanding. Then he smiled and rose to his feet, closing the book and tossing it aside.   
  
“Well, it's about time.” His voice was slightly rough and held a barely perceptible tremor. “Did someone finally hit you over the head with a two by four?”  
  
“Simon.” Jim admitted, vacillating by the door. It was one thing to allow himself to believe that his feelings might – just possibly might – be reciprocated. It was a whole other thing to see it in Blair's face. To know that he only had to cross the room to have everything he'd ever dreamed of. _  
_  
Taking a deep breath, he closed the door and walked across the room.  
  
***

 _San Francisco 1969  
_  
“So tell me again why I haven't leaped?” Sam was busy packing baby gear into one of two suitcases. Blair was sleeping and Kozinsky had left, an hour ago, to allow Naomi to escape without implicating himself. He'd promised never to try to contact them, or to tell anyone he was Blair's father. Sam hoped it would be enough.   
  
Al was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his chin propped on one hand, watching. “Beats me.” He poked the handset for the hundredth time but without getting any different result. “Maybe it's just gonna take a while.”  
  
“Well, I'd better get going.” Sam shrugged on the baby sling and settled Blair into it. The baby was sleeping at last, his lips making vague sucking motions. On impulse, he rummaged through Naomi's tote bag and pulled out a small photo album. He found the photo he was looking for and took it out, then wrote on the back. He stuck the edge of the photo under the frame of the mirror and turned away, just as a horn blared outside the apartment. Naomi's friends had arrived.  
  
***

 _Cascade 1999  
_  
Jim heard the sputter of the Volvo as it rounded the corner onto Prospect and smiled. Two more days and Sandburg would be graduating from the Academy and starting his job as a full-time _paid_  cop. A junior detective's salary wasn't the exactly generous, but it was certainly better than what he'd been paid as a Research Fellow. Maybe, finally, Blair would consider buying a decent car.  
  
The ringing of the phone distracted him from his thoughts and he grabbed it, allowing a small part of his attention to follow the progress of the Volvo, still two and a half blocks away. “Ellison.”  
  
“Brother Jim.”   
  
The voice was unexpected, and it took a moment for Jim to place it. “Marcus? What are you up to? Escaped from the monastery for a few days?”   
  
“Brother Jeremy allowed me to drive into town. Jim, is Blair there? I have to…”  
  
“He'll be here in just a minute or two. I can hear his car outside.” Jim smiled at the thought of Blair coming through the door, full of energy and stories about his classmates. He'd embraced life at the Academy with all his usual vigour.  
  
“This is important. Some contacts… someone I knew from the old days… he's told me that Blair's in danger.” Marcus' voice wavered. “Please, Jim you need to warn him.”   
  
All Jim's good humour fled. “What did he tell you? Why would anyone want to hurt Blair? Marcus, what's going on here?” He went over to the balcony, looking down the street to where Blair's Volvo was just crossing the intersection with Delaware. He made it across just as the lights turned and Jim breathed a sigh of relief. “Just hang on a minute, okay, Marcus? Blair will be here soon.”  
  
He watched until Blair parked the Volvo, immediately across from the entrance to the building, and got out of the car. Glancing up, he waved cheerily to Jim and started to cross the street.   
  
The dark green sedan seemed to come out of nowhere. Jim yelled, a wordless, protesting cry of horror, and Blair hesitated. It probably saved his life, though that was lost on Jim at the time, as his lover's body became briefly airborne before bouncing off the trunk of one of the parked cars and down between that and another one. Jim didn't wait to see more. He was already halfway to the door, the phone forgotten on the balcony where he'd dropped it.  
  
***

The dim lighting, medicinal smells and beeping of monitors was all too horribly familiar to Jim. What wasn't familiar was the sickening sensation of having almost lost someone who was more important to him than his own soul. Even after Blair's drowning, he hadn't felt like this.  
  
Jim held on to Blair's hand like it was a lifeline and contemplated just how empty his world would be without Blair in it. Too empty. His fingers tightened around Blair's square palm and he forced himself to let go. Blair had suffered enough damage today.  
  
He closed his eyes, seeing the whole thing again in slow motion. The car had been on the opposite side of the road; had, in fact, veered well over the centre line in order to hit Blair. If he hadn't hesitated… he would have gone under the car instead of being struck a glancing blow and tossed aside. He'd either be dead, or so badly injured, he'd  _wish_  he was dead.  
  
Instead, his right leg was broken in two places from where the car hit him, and the ribs on the left side of his chest were broken from crashing into the parked car. The left side of his face was badly bruised and scraped and his left arm was fractured when he'd instinctively thrown it up to protect his head from hitting the ground.  
  
For a moment, the sounds and smells of the hospital were overlaid by the scent of Blair's blood, and the horrible absence of sound in those few panicked seconds when Jim hadn't been able to locate Blair's heartbeat amongst the chaos of voices. He forced the memory back, stood up and walked to the window, but he couldn't stay there.  
  
Back at the bedside, he bent over and brushed a stray curl back from Blair's forehead. Somehow the little bastard had weasled the administration at the Academy into letting him keep his long hair. Jim suspected he'd used the line about being Major Crime's liaison with Narcotics, but he hadn't inquired too closely.  
  
“Jesus, Blair, don't you ever do this to me again, okay?” He murmured the words as he brushed his lips against Blair's unbruised right temple. “I can't take this any more.”  
  
When he drew back, Blair's eyes or, rather,  _eye_  – the other was too swollen – was open, showing just a sliver of blue and black. “I won' if you won', Jim.” His voice was slurred and he swallowed uncomfortably. “Now you know how I…”  
  
Jim spooned a few chips of ice into his mouth. “It's different now. Christ, for a moment I thought…” he stopped at the sight of the ironic gleam in Blair's eye. “Fine. You're never gonna let me live it down, are you, Chief? Just 'cause you figured it out first…”  
  
“Who'e  _year_ , Jim.” Blair opened his mouth for more ice and sighed when Jim obliged. “An', nope. Never.”  
  
Jim leaned over and kissed him full on the lips, feeling the moistness from the ice startlingly chill against the heat of his lover's skin. It wasn't a long kiss; not nearly long enough but, when it was over, he felt immeasurably better.  
  
Blair smiled, looking over Jim's shoulder. “Hi, Simon.”  
  
“Sandburg, do I have to bust you back to traffic patrol? Didn't they teach you kids  _anything_  in kindergarten?” Simon's bluster faded and he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “And I thought not having you under my command for a few weeks would be restful.”  
  
“Welcome to my world, Simon.” Jim watched as Banks dropped into a chair on the other side of the bed. He sat down in his chair and took hold of Blair's hand again. “Did you get anything on the hit and run?”  
  
Simon grunted. “One of the bystanders got the license. Rafe and Brown are following up on it. I don't expect much. It'll probably turn up gutted and burnt out in Southtown.”  
  
“Yeah.” Jim nodded gloomily, then a thought struck him. “Marcus! Jesus, just before Blair was hit, Brother Marcus called to say he was in danger.”  
  
“Mar'us?” Blair blinked dazedly. He looked like he was fading fast. “Jim, what…?”  
  
“You're talking about a monk from that monastery you go to?” Simon glared from Jim to Blair and back again. “What the hell has he got to do with anything?”  
  
“He's…” Jim stopped; shut his mouth abruptly. “Sorry, sir. I can't discuss Brother Marcus with you.”  
  
Predictably, Simon didn't react well. “If he has information that could lead to an arrest, then you'll damn well tell me what I need to know.” When Jim shook his head, he turned to Blair. “Sandburg?”  
  
“Sorry, Simon.” Blair voice was getting even more slurred.  
  
“Then I'm bringing him in.” Simon got out of his chair, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and stalked out of the room, jabbing angrily at the buttons.  
  
***

It was three hours before the police located Brothers Marcus and Jeremy and brought them to the hospital. By that time Blair was awake again and a lot more alert. On the downside, it was nearly time for his next dose of pain meds and he was feeling it. Jim's fussing didn't help, either.   
  
He batted away Jim's hand from his face. “Jesus, Jim, would you give it a rest? I only said it was a little warm in here.” He stopped as the door opened and the two monks came in. “Oh, thank god. Please, brothers, I need to be saved.”  
  
Neither man so much as smiled. In fact they both looked the picture of nervous guilt. Blair glanced at Jim questioningly and got only a shrug in return.  
  
“Come in, gentlemen. I take it Captain Banks has finished taking your statements?” Jim pulled up a couple of chairs by the bed and gestured to Marcus and Jeremy to sit.  
  
“I don't see any bite marks.” Blair muttered. He was pretty sure Jim knew what was going on and he wasn't happy at being left out. “Does someone want to fill me in now?”  
  
Jim twitched. There was  _definitely_  something going on. Jim was jumpier than a mouse in a room full of mousetraps.  
  
Brother Jeremy cleared his throat nervously. “Uh, perhaps  _I_  should…”  
  
“No, Jeremy.” Marcus cut in, looking even guiltier. “I think I should just come clean.” He only waited long enough for Jeremy to nod his acquiescence. “Blair, when you found out about my… my previous life, you were kind enough to… to look past what I'd done. To accept me as I am now. And I thank you for that. You have no idea what that meant, still means to me.”  
  
“You're a good man, Marcus. A good friend.”  
  
“There was something, then, that I didn't tell you.” Marcus leaned forward earnestly, his face creasing with anxiety. “I… I couldn't, Blair. I'd made a promise, and no matter how much I wanted to tell you, that promise couldn't be broken.”  
  
“And now it can?” Blair wasn't sure he wanted to know that secret. Judging by the wariness in Marcus' voice, it wasn't going to be anything good.   
  
“Now, it's essential that I tell you. For your own safety.” Marcus glanced up at Jim, who nodded and took hold of Blair's hand, holding it tightly. “You see, years ago, before I entered the monastery – long before – I fell in love. We never married… well, she wouldn't. She said she wanted to be free. We had a child together, a son.” His eyes met Blair's and Blair found he couldn't look away. “When she found out what I was involved in, she left me. She didn't want her – our – son to grow up in that world. I knew she was right, and I let her go. And I promised I would never contact her or our son again.”  
  
“Marcus…” He could feel his heart pounding. He glanced at Jim, who was staring at him with an intentness that scared him. “What… what are you…”  
  
Marcus waited, but his eyes were filling with tears. “Blair, when you came to the monastery… when I realised… I wanted to tell you so badly.”  
  
“No.” Blair shook his head. “No, it can't be true. Why are you  _doing_  this?”  
  
“Chief…” Jim bent over him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Blair, it's okay. Breathe.”  
  
“Oh  _god_ …” He gasped, feeling bands of pain tightening around his chest. He couldn't look at Marcus, so he turned an accusing stare on Jeremy. 'You  _knew_  about this?”  
  
“Well… no.” Jeremy admitted uncomfortably. “Not until today.”  
  
“I never told anybody.” Marcus was staring at his knees and didn't look up. “But after what happened at St Sebastian's, I contacted the agent who helped me disappear, asked him to keep an ear to the ground. He's retired now, but he still has friends in the Bureau. He got a message to me this afteroon that the Mob had somehow found out about you. Something about a press conference? Anyway, they decided to… to make you into an object lesson for anyone else who might think about double-crossing them. To show then that not even their kids would be safe. I told Brother Jeremy. Then I called to warn you and Jim.” Finally, he looked up. “I'm sorry, Blair. All this is my fault.”   
  
The press conference – god, would the fallout from that never end? And now it looked like he'd been royally screwed over by both his parents. He choked with laughter that even to his ears sounded almost hysterical. “Fuck… I can't believe this. Jim…” and suddenly Blair realised he had a way to hurt Marcus for what he'd done. To make him feel as bad as  _he_  felt right now. “What a fucking family – the Jewish flower child, the Mobster Monk, and the deconstructed atheist faggot and his circus freak boyfriend. Jesus, Jim, I thought  _your_  family was fucked up.”  
  
In the silence that followed, he looked from Marcus' stricken face to Jim's furious one, and closed his eyes feeling sick at heart. “Please. All of you… just go away.”  
  
***

Blair was fidgeting again, nervous as a teenager on his first date. Jim sighed, holding onto the threads of his temper. “Look, Blair, you don't have to do this yet. I can tell Marcus to come another day.”  
  
“Another day, are you  _mad_?” Blair picked at the edge of the hospital sheet. “Jim, I'll go crazy if I have to wait any longer.”  
  
“Then settle down, okay? This isn't helping.” Jim realised he might just be a little nervous too. He guessed there were probably worse ways of being introduced to a new father-in-law than by being publicly outed by a doped up boyfriend, but he couldn't think of any off hand. “Do you want another pillow?”  
  
Blair gave him an evil look. “If you so much as touch my pillows one more time, I'll scream police harassment. Do you hear me, Jim?”  
  
Jim raised his hands in the air, backing away slowly and Blair flopped his head back against the pillows, closing his eye – the other was still shut fast and an interesting shade of purplish-yellow – with a groan. “God, why did I say those things? What the fuck was I thinking?”  
  
“Cut yourself some slack, Chief. You were high as a kite on drugs and in a lot of pain.” Jim perched carefully on the edge of the bed and took hold of Blair's hand between both his own. At the time, he'd been angry enough that he'd just wanted to walk out and never come back. That he hadn't indicated, surely, that he was making some kind of progress. Instead, he'd kept a lid on his temper long enough to clear the others out of the room. When he'd come back in, it was to find Blair barely conscious, his face streaked with tears; his anger had evaporated into thin air at the sight. “We all know you didn't mean it.”  
  
“But I  _did_ , Jim.” He must have felt Jim's flinch, because he opened his eye anxiously. “I mean… there was a part of me that meant it, or I wouldn't have said it.” He sighed. “I guess I still have a few unresolved issues with the whole diss disaster.”  
  
“Maybe you do.” And that admission came a hell of a lot easier than Jim would ever have expected. He found that he was smiling broadly. “I think I just heard the other shoe drop.” And it hadn't been the catastrophe he'd imagined it would be.  
  
“Huh?” Blair frowned briefly, then looked over towards the door, dismissing the puzzle. Jim knew he'd remember it later; he always did. And that was okay too. “When do you think he'll be here?”  
  
Jim consulted his watch ostentatiously. “In about one minute's less time than the last time you asked.”  
  
“So bite me.” Blair grumbled. He snickered a little when Jim leaned forward, lips drawn back from his teeth. “ _Ow_! Don't make me laugh, okay?”  
  
“Okay.” He nuzzled Blair's cheek, breathing in his scent, and kissed the tender skin beneath his ear. “Want me to distract you, babe?”  
  
“Yeah.” Blair already sounded breathless. He turned his head, blindly seeking Jim's kiss, and lifted his uninjured arm so he could caress the side of Jim's face with trembling fingertips.  
  
As distractions went, it must have been effective, because not even Jim heard Simon come in, until he cleared his throat noisily. “Don't let me disturb you.” The sweetly reasonable tone was patently insincere, but a genuine smile lit his face as he moved aside to reveal Naomi standing behind him. “You've got a visitor.”  
  
“Mom!” Blair looked at Jim wildly. “I… uh, I didn't expect…”  
  
“Oh, Blair! Your poor face.” Naomi floated gracefully towards the bed but Jim wasn't about to cede his place at Blair's side. He smiled calmly and held tight to Bair's hand. “Simon told me what happened. How long are you going to have to stay in this place? I'll bring some…”  
  
“Naomi, you can't burn sage in a hospital.” Jim tried to make it sound like he was joking, but he wasn't entirely sure that she wasn't planning on doing just that. And what was with the 'Simon'? Surely she wasn't… because that could be… awkward.  
  
“Oh, no. But some crystals, perhaps, to focus the healing energies…”  
  
“I'm only gonna be here a couple more days,” Blair soothed. “You can put all the crystals you like at the loft, okay? Um… did Simon tell you about…?”  
  
“I thought I'd leave that to you, Sandburg.” Simon edged a little closer towards the door. For a moment Jim thought he was going to make his escape, but then it opened again and Jeremy came in, closely followed by Marcus.  
  
Jim saw Naomi's eyes flicker over the two monks with minimal interest, but then they returned to Marcus with a hint of confusion. Marcus, after one shocked look at Naomi had lowered his gaze to the floor.  
  
“Blair? Who…?” Naomi studied her son, then turned back towards Marcus. “ _Jackie_?”  
  
“Mom, this is Brother Marcus. I told you about him.” Blair's voice was strained. “And… and…”  
  
She ignored him, walking over to stand in front of Marcus. “Jackie…” her voice was trmbling, “…after all these years…”  
  
“Hello, Naomi.” Marcus smiled tentatively. “You… you haven't changed at all.”  
  
“But you have.” She gestured at the robe he wore. “More than I could ever have imagined. Are you happy?”  
  
“Yes. I found a place where I can truly belong. Naomi, I'm sorry… I never intended… I kept my promise.” Marcus sighed. “Now I've put both you and Blair in danger again.”  
  
“Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that.” Simon sounded suspiciously cheerful. “I had a little talk to Kawalski yesterday. Blair's a cop, now – or would be if he could be trusted to cross the road by himself” he glared in Blair's direction and received a cheery smile in return. “I reminded him that we take attacks against cops and their families very seriously. I don't think there'll be any problems from that quarter.”  
  
Naomi looked questioningly at Jim and he nodded agreement. “Kawalski's got a string of legitimate and semi-legitimate businesses here in Cascade. He knows that if we specifically targeted his operations, he'd have a very tough time.”  
  
“Well, I don't approve of police harassment…”  
  
“Mom!”  
  
“…but perhaps just this once, I'll turn a blind eye.” She smiled brilliantly at Jim.   
  
He kissed her on the cheek, to Blair's evident disapproval. “Thanks, Mom.” She giggled.  
  
“Naomi, I want you to…” Marcus was fumbling in the pocket of his robe. He pulled out a battered looking photograph and handed it to her. “I always kept this. And I always hoped you were right…”  
  
Naomi took the photo. Looking over her shoulder, Jim saw it was a candid snap of a very young Naomi, cradling her newborn son in her arms. She turned it over, and on the back was some writing, faded with age, but still legible –  _we will meet again_  
  
“Oh, Jackie…” She kissed him on the cheek, her eyes filling with tears. “Blair, isn't this wonderful?”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, it is…” Blair cleared his throat. “Marcus, I'm sorry for the way I… I mean, I'm not sorry I told you about me and Jim, but for the way I did… I'm sorry about that.”  
  
“I forgive you,” Marcus smiled. “But then I have to.”  
  
Blair chuckled weakly and held his hand out to his father.  
  
As Blair's parents clustered about the hospital bed Jim looked significantly at Simon, who laid a long arm across Brother Jeremy's shoulder, turning them both towards the door. “How about we leave this family to get reacquainted?”   
  
As Jim headed back to Blair's side he heard Simon's voice rumbling quietly, “Believe me, you don't want to be in the middle of a Sandburg family reunion.” Jim grinned to himself. There were worse places to be. 


End file.
